Cheat, Pray, Love

Along with slashed payrolls, rising foreclosures, and plummeting stock prices, 2008 brought another unwelcome development: a surge in bank robberies, which were up more than fifty per cent in New York. This wasn’t shocking: we typically expect property crimes to rise in hard economic times. There is, though, one crime against property which bucks this trend: defrauding investors. On Wall Street, fraudulent schemes tend to thrive during economic booms, and to blow up when times turn tough. While bank robbers are getting busier, the Bernard Madoffs are starting to get caught.

Madoff is just the latest in a long line of fraudsters who took advantage of investor euphoria. Time and again, as asset markets have become frothier, fraud has flourished. During England’s South Sea Bubble, in 1720, a host of bogus joint-stock companies arose, including one that described its enterprise as “nitvender,” or the selling of nothing. The boom of the nineteen-twenties featured men like Arthur Montgomery, who ran a Ponzi scheme promising investors four-hundred-per-cent returns in sixty days, and the Match King, Ivar Kreuger, who sustained match monopolies all over the world with forged bonds and doctored books. More recently, the stock-market bubble of the late nineties gave rise to enormous frauds at companies like Enron and WorldCom.

Fraud is a boom-time crime because it feeds on the faith of investors, and during bubbles that faith is overflowing. So while robbing a bank seems to be a demand-driven crime, robbing bank shareholders is all about supply. In the classic work on investor hysteria, “Manias, Panics, and Crashes,” the economist Charles Kindleberger wrote that during bubbles “the supply of corruption increases . . . much like the supply of credit.” This is more than a simple analogy: corruption and credit are stoked by the same forces. Cheap money engenders a surfeit of trust, and vice versa. (The word “credit” comes from the Latin for “believe.”) The same overconfidence that leads investors and lenders to underestimate the risks of legitimate investments also leads them to underestimate the likelihood of fraud. In Madoff’s case, for instance, his propensity for delivering inexplicably consistent returns month after month should have been a warning sign to his investors. But in the past few years besotted investors were willing to believe lots of foolish things—like the idea that housing prices would just keep going up.

An oversupply of credulity doesn’t last, of course; when the crash comes, and people get more cynical and cautious, the frauds are exposed. As Warren Buffett put it, “You only learn who’s been swimming naked when the tide goes out.” Did the share prices of Enron and WorldCom start plunging after their fraudulent actions came to light? Actually, it was the other way around: the financial mischief was exposed only after their stock prices tanked. In Madoff’s case, the steep across-the-board decline in asset prices curbed investors’ appetite for risk, so that many started to pull their money out. That effect may very well have forced Madoff to dispense more money than he could keep bringing in, especially since recruiting new investors, which you have to do to keep a Ponzi scheme going, would have become harder after the crash.

When the Madoff scandal erupted, some people argued that investor confidence would be further shaken—that the scandal would make America’s markets look more like Russia’s, notoriously rife with scams and suspicion. That hasn’t happened. After the Madoff story broke, the market jumped almost five per cent, and it’s now well above where it was when Madoff was arrested. One reason is that a stock market that lost seven trillion dollars in value in 2008 knows how to take a fifty-billion-dollar loss in stride. And Madoff was running money largely for an élite clientele, which gained access to his services primarily through inside connections, limiting the market-wide impact of his malfeasance.

But the main reason that Madoff didn’t destroy investor confidence is that it was already gone, thanks to a year when just about every institution that the market depends on—rating agencies, accounting firms, regulators, Wall Street C.E.O.s.—had messed up. The whole web of intermediaries and knowledge brokers that modern asset markets have come to rely on has become frayed. That helps explain the current credit crunch—bank lending has dropped fifty-five per cent this year—and the dismal state of the stock market. Discovering what the crooks have been up to is disillusioning, but not as disillusioning as coming to terms with what the so-called honest people did.

In David Mamet’s movie “House of Games,” the grifter played by Joe Mantegna explains to a former mark, “It’s called a confidence game. Why? Because you give me your confidence? No. Because I give you mine.” So the bankers gave us their confidence, in the form of mortgages and other forms of credit, and we gave them ours. This culture of credulity did plenty of damage to the economy, but now it has given way to something even more corrosive; namely, endemic mistrust. Because if there’s one thing worse than too much confidence it’s not enough. Fraud impoverishes a few; fear impoverishes the many. As long as mistrust prevails, people will keeping pulling money out of the system—sometimes even at gunpoint. ♦

James Surowiecki is the author of “The Wisdom of Crowds” and writes about economics, business, and finance for the magazine.